


Those Steps Are a Menace, Too

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: I posted the short Barba-giving-Benson-a-massage fic yesterday, by special request, and was promptly inundated with requests for a Benson-massages-Barba sequel. So, here it is. Hope you guys like it ;)





	Those Steps Are a Menace, Too

At the sound of the door opening, Barba tipped his chin up with a wince and rolled his eyes upward, trying to see over his head. “I said to stay out,” he said.

“You told me not to come in, and I’m not,” Carmen answered from the doorway. “You never said I couldn’t let her in.”

“What the hell, Rafael?” Benson asked as she walked into his office.

Scowling, Barba said, “You’re fired,” to Carmen—even though he couldn’t see her from his position, flat on his back, on the sofa.

“I’ll sue you. I’m sure Ms. Calhoun would take my case for free,” Carmen answered, as she turned and left, pulling the office door closed behind herself.

Scowling darkly, looking sideways at Benson, Barba said, “I swear to God, if you’re laughing right now—”

“She’s not wrong,” Benson said. “Not that you’d actually fire her—You wouldn’t know how to function.”

“Thanks so much for stopping by, Lieutenant,” he told her, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“I can see that,” she remarked. “What’s going on, Rafa?”

His expression tightened and he closed his eyes, pulling in a breath through his nose. “I slipped on the steps outside my building and threw my back out,” he admitted.

“At your apartment?” she asked. “How’d you _get_ here?”

“It wasn’t that bad at first,” he said. “I got in the car but by the time I got here…” He trailed off and opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

“Well, you need to get off the couch,” she told him.

“I’m just resting,” he grumbled. “I have court in an hour.”

“An _hour_? Barba, you’re going to have to reschedule.”

“No,” he said, scowling upward. “It’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

“So your plan is to lie there and hope it magically fixes itself?” she asked. “Come on, I’ll help you up,” she said, stepping toward him.

“No, thank you,” he said, quickly. “You can leave, I’ve got work to do.”

“Don’t be a baby,” she told him.

He rolled his eyes toward her in a glare. “Go away,” he said.

“Come over here and make me,” she answered.

He made a small growling sound in his throat.

“Prove to me that you can get up and I might leave you be,” she told him.

“Of course I can get up,” he said, glaring at her.

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m waiting.”

He clenched his jaw. As he rolled, slowly, she could see the pain in his face, and she started forward automatically. “I’m fine,” he said, holding up a hand. She stopped, even though he clearly wasn’t fine. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his face pale. He reached down and put his hand on the floor. He pushed his upper body out a bit and put his other hand on the floor. She wanted to ask what his plan was, since he seemed to be attempting to get on his hands and knees.

“Rafael,” she said, starting forward again, hating to see him in such pain. “Let me help—”

“Don’t touch me,” he said, sounding desperate. He shifted his leg and dropped one foot to the floor. “Oh, God,” he said. “Okay, help.”

She bent down, putting her hand, lightly, on his shoulder. “Down or up?” she asked.

“Oh, God,” he repeated. “Down. Down.”

She put her arm under his stomach. “I’m going to pull your leg down—”

“Just do it, do it, oh my— _ahh_ ,” he said.

“I’ve got you, we’re going slow,” she told him, supporting most of his weight as she lowered him to the floor. His arms were shaking, his breathing ragged. In just a few moments, he was lying on his stomach on the floor, his arms bent up near his head. Crouching beside him, she put a light hand on his shoulder blade and dipped her head to look at his face.

He met her eyes, even though she knew there was nothing he hated more than being seen in such a vulnerable state. “I’m not going to a chiropractor,” he muttered. “I have court.”

She sighed. “You do know you’re the most stubborn, irritating man—”

“I just need to pop it in,” he said. “I’ve done it before, it’s not a big deal.”

“Clearly,” she answered.

He let out a shaky breath. “Usually, I can use the edge of the sofa…” He trailed off, though, because he didn’t need to mention how spectacularly that plan had failed. “Just…If you could just…” He closed his eyes.

“Wow, you really don’t like asking for help,” she said, and he could hear the amusement in her voice despite her concern. “Alright. You’re not going to like me in a minute.” She shifted onto her knees beside him. She was glad he’d at least had the presence of mind to take off his jacket and vest before stranding himself on the sofa. It would be easier for her to feel what was going on, without the extra layers of suit.

She leaned over him and put her palms, lightly, against his upper back. He stopped breathing. She slid her hands downward, slowly, feeling along his spine.

“You’re going to have to relax,” she told him.

“I am relaxed,” he mumbled against his arm.

“You need to relax your muscles if you want—”

“Just do it, I promise not to scream,” he said, and she laughed quietly at his small attempt at a joke.

“I’m not going to do that,” she murmured. She rubbed his upper back in a gesture of comfort. “It’s going to be alright, Rafa,” she said, softly. “Just hang on a little, alright?”

“Stop being nice,” he muttered.

She smiled. “If you have a happy place, I suggest you close your eyes and go there,” she said. She moved forward and lifted one leg over his back so she was straddling him. The couch was brushing against her hip, but she didn’t want to move him any more than necessary. She leaned forward and pressed the heels of her hands against his shoulder blades, pushing gently. He made a soft grunting sound and turned his face into the crook of his arm.

She pressed her fingertips into his trapezius and massaged, keeping the pressure light to avoid disturbing his lower back. She kneaded his upper back; his skin was hot, burning her through his shirts. She used her palms to trace opposing circles as she moved downward. She dug the heels of her hands into his ribcage on either side of his spine, and he bit back a groan.

She moved further down, her palms against his back, her fingers spreading toward the softer flesh at the sides of his abdomen. She was very close to the source of his pain, now, and she moved carefully, massaging gently, kneading his skin and the knotted muscles beneath.

“Do you trust me?” she asked, using her knuckles to prod the flesh above his belt.

“Hmm,” he answered, his face hidden against his arm. She knew he did; she could feel his body, gradually relaxing against the floor, in spite of the pain. His muscles were looser. The more relaxed he was, the easier the process was going to be—for both of them. She flattened her hands, leaning forward, pressing down, and slowly slid her palms all the way up the length of his back, on either side of his backbone, all the way up to his shoulder blades.

She adjusted her knees, so that they were tighter against the sides of his belly to steady the both of them. She put the heel of her left hand against his spine, high, between his scapulas, and placed her right hand over her left. She pressed down, gently, against his backbone. She shifted, moving her hands downward, pushing lightly at every other vertebra.

As she neared his lumbar region, she felt him catch his breath.

“Keep…breathing…” she murmured, pressing, sliding, pressing. “Breathe in…hold…breathe out…” she told him, barely above a whisper. As he exhaled, as she felt the air leaving his body, she tensed her muscles and leaned forward, pushing. She felt his spine shift beneath her palm.

“ _Ohhh_ …my… _God_ …” he said. His whole body seemed to deflate against the floor. She rubbed her hands over his backbone, feeling for abnormalities. Everything seemed to be back in place, but she knew that he would have to move carefully to make sure it stayed that way.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I…have…no idea…” he said, and she smiled. She put one palm against his back and leaned to her side, trying to see his face. After a moment, he shifted his arm and tipped his chin, peering sideways at her. Silence stretched between them as their gazes locked and held. Finally, in a low voice, he asked, “Why’d you stop by, again?”

Smiling, she answered, “I was going to see if you had time to grab a quick lunch, but I guess not.”

He chuckled, and she felt the vibration of his quiet laugh through her thighs. She swallowed, suddenly aware of how intimately she was still straddling him.

“Since you have to be in court in…what, now? Forty minutes?”

He turned his wrist on the floor to glance at his watch. “I suppose I should get up,” he said.

“Do you have a clean shirt? Never mind, stupid question, of course you do. Alright, let’s get you up,” she said, putting her hand on the floor to brace herself. As she started to shift, lifting her leg, he moved his arm so he could slide his hand over hers on the carpet.

“Liv,” he said, quietly, as his hand covered hers. She hesitated, looking at him. He looked at their hands and swallowed before meeting her gaze again. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry I told you to go away.”

“Then I suppose I should apologize for calling you a baby,” she returned, and she saw the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. “Come on, nice and easy,” she said, moving until she was kneeling beside him again. He put his palms against the floor and pushed himself up, slowly. Her hands hovered nearby, in case he needed support. He paused on his hands and knees, head lowered.

“If you ever decide to leave the NYPD, you might have a second calling,” he said.

“Are you good?” she asked, watching as he straightened onto his knees.

Now they were both kneeling, and he looked at her. “I think so,” he said. “It feels…alright.”

“Don’t do any cartwheels in the courtroom.”

He grinned. “I’ll just prop myself against the jury box,” he said. He hesitated, and she knew he didn’t want to ask.

“I’ll drive you,” she said. “On your feet, first, though. Here, put your hand on my shoulder.” He pressed his lips together but did as instructed, and they rose to their feet. “Still good?” she asked.

He nodded, letting out a breath. “I’m suing my landlord. Those steps are a menace. Someone could hurt themselves.”

“Someone could?” she asked.

He made a scoffing sound. “What, me? I was fine until you showed up,” he said.

She laughed and gestured toward his shirt. “You’re a mess. Do you need help changing?” She meant it as a joke, but when he arched an eyebrow at her, she suddenly felt heat creeping into her cheeks. He saw her face darkening, and his lips quirked into a smirk. “On second thought, maybe you should walk to the courthouse,” she said.

“Hey, Liv,” he said, when she started to turn away. He reached a hand toward her arm, but stopped without touching her, letting his arm slowly sink back to his side when she paused. “Sorry about lunch. How about…” He hesitated and cleared his throat, meeting her eyes. “How about dinner?”

She looked at him, feeling a flutter in her stomach. “Sure,” she said, watching the relief settle into his expression. Their gazes held and, after a moment, she added, “I’ll pick you up.”

 


End file.
